


The music matters

by mariasue123



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariasue123/pseuds/mariasue123
Summary: The familiar sound of piano notes being played annoyed Prussia far more than they should have.





	

The familiar sound of piano notes being played annoyed Prussia far more than they should have.

 Of course, he did not think the Priss capable of any depth of emotion besides maybe withering, dry comments that left Gilbert seething; furthering his desire to destroy the violet-haired nation. But there was no reason, he thought, that that lack of emotion should seep into his playing, it was totally ‘uncool’ to let feelings, or lack thereof, get in the way of anything.

He had just come in from a self-proclaimed ‘totally awesome’ work-out session when he had heard the sound of Roderich’s grand piano cranking out notes like a mechanical music box.

 Not that he particularly cared what the Priss did, it didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing really mattered anymore; the tumbling thought came out of nowhere and hit him like a pitcher of beer to the head. Immediately, he felt like punching something.

The Priss’s playing was really starting to piss him off.

He stomped up the stairs, surely loud enough to make Roderich aware of his presence. The playing did not stop. His hands were shaking but he would not grip the banister. He would absolutely not grip the banister. Fucking Christ. The Awesome Prussia, wheezing and shaking like an old man, like Fritz did, when he had been close to the end.

 But this act of his weakness wasn’t solitary. The lingering battle wounds, the fresher, clearer pain inflicted upon him only punctuated the ever growing stupid weariness within him.

With each step he climbed, Gilbert could feel his body breaking down.

But at least it made him _something;_ made him more human in his pain. Not like the Priss, whose casual immortality only made him more devoid of feelings and so emotionlessly void that it must’ve caught up to him.  The Priss’s music sounded like it was coming from a machine.

Well, damn it, he was going to call him out on his bullshit this time.

Reaching Roderich’s room, the large interior, elegant furniture and finely painted dark blue wall slightly innerved him. It was almost freakish; the way in which the Priss could make any room look like it was both coldly uncomfortable and lavish at the same time.  Gilbert felt the instinctive need to take the Priss outside for once. No wonder he was emotionally stunted, having to live inside such soulless rooms all his life.

(He had once jokingly thought about how, when he had been younger and wilder and well, much less _diplomatic_ than he was now, he probably would’ve taken one good look at Roderich and then jumped with him out the window, far away from his stupid cold life and elegant cages.  Taking him into- well something he felt was better, anyway. Such stupid flights of fancy now, when he could no longer run up the stairs without panting like one of West’s dogs.)

However, the sight of the Priss’s back to him, so rigid and upright like one of Old Fritz’s mechanical automatons made him snort.  Roderich heard him and the playing stopped, his face almost impassive despite glaring at Prussia.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Prussia?” Only Priss could make a greeting sound so dry and scathing.

It only got Prussia more riled up.                                  

“Shut up Priss.”

Prussia walked towards the piano, drew up the desk chair and sat on it, slightly crumpling his uniform. He was desperately trying not to show how tired he was. Immediately he abandoned the idea, and closed his eyes, too fucking done to care what the stupid Priss thought of him.

“Just shut up and play something awesome already.”

Roderich had wanted to spit something back, to reply with a scathing retort. Indeed, Gilbert had expected him to slam the piano shut and demand his absence from the room. Yet, to his surprise, there was only silence for a second and then an exasperated huff before the same plain notes began to be played.

It pissed Gilbert off even more.

He burst up from his chair and almost shouted in his annoyance. Even in his awesome presence, the Priss couldn’t play a proper note? And they called him a musical genius!

“No! Don’t fucking play like that. Play something that’s real.”

The Priss’s face was impassive and unreadable as he stopped playing; taking slim gloved hands off of the smooth keys. He obviously was displeased at being disrupted twice, because this time he did retaliate at Gilbert.

“Haven’t you considered it possible that it is your fault?  You are so stupidly narcissistic and egotistical that you sap all the energy and meaning from everywhere you go. No wonder I can’t play, with this place full of your blundering presence!”

“You mean my awesome presence! And you’re aware of how stupid that is right? You’re staying in my house for free, for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s actually Germany’s house. And stop shouting, it only shows how vulgar you really are.”

Vulgar! Gilbert was almost seething! How dare the Priss talk to him like that, after he had tried to help him and everything! Now Gilbert really wanted to make Prussia crack, to make him wrench in pain and guilt for the things he said. He did not care by what means he was going to achieve it. He did not care, would not care. After all, nothing mattered anymore, right?

“Priss, I’m fucking dying.”

And there was a pause, a tight-lipped silence that seemed to ring in both their ears. Shattering and splintering through their souls, the silence seemed to burn through them. Gilbert kind of regretted it, the face the Priss was making was… strange. (Sad even?) Gilbert himself had tried to not show any sign of emotion, tried to keep his voice even. For once (though he would’ve never admitted it) he tried to be a bit more like the Priss.

But in that moment it seemed both of their composures seemed to crack a little, their acts became a little blurry and unclear, at this sudden revelation.

It was Gilbert that first broke the silence.

“So try to fucking play better, at least. ”

And he would’ve ran out of the room, eager to get out, to not have to look at Priss’s stupid strange face, if it had not been for the stupid Priss’s hand quietly reaching out and snagging his wrist, almost hesitatingly gentle. Neither of them spoke as he guided Gilbert back to the chair. At that point, Gilbert would’ve snatched his arm away but something in his gut, something he would not care to name, made him stay. He sat back down silently.

The Priss started to play again. His face was unreadable and if he had been disturbed by Gilbert’s sudden outburst, it did not show. His back, however, was ever so slightly slumped. 

The notes Roderich played were like a forest fire compared to his earlier embers. This time there was no stoicism, only a soft elegance that seemed to dance straight from his silken fingers, as he played. Gilbert found himself becoming lost.

At last, after the song came to its end, Roderich pulled back his chair and studied Gilbert’s face. For a second, he thought he saw tears there. Roderich sighed.

“Are you satisfied now?”

There were a million answers to that question, Gilbert thought. So many retorts and memories that could he could give. Had he not been satisfied at the Battle of Königgrätz, or when West became one of the most powerful nations in the world? Had he not been satisfied when the Priss had finally relented and had come to his house? It was so hard to tell anymore; the old battle scars of victory had started to fade and the new ones started to harshen, maybe because _he,_ himself, was finally starting to fade.  And at that point, what the fuck did satisfaction matter anymore?

But even so, he….

He- wanted to feel something, and hated the way the Priss looked, his face full of nothing despite the things he had told him. He didn’t frown or cry or even scoff at his former enemy’s demise. That and his stupid music pissed him off to no end.  That coupled with that other burning feeling in his gut, the feeling he did not care to name, and Gilbert couldn’t stand it anymore.

He leaned forward. Their faces were almost touching. Priss’s eyes were an open field of violet.

“Prussia, what are you-“

Gilbert’s lips were hard and chapped against Roderich’s soft mouth, only emphasizing the ever-present contrast between them. Gilbert, ever the soldier, the militant, dominated the kiss, trying to deepen it, while Roderich, ever the diplomat, kept his mouth deftly closed and was careful and precise, never overstepping the boundaries. Though it could be argued that they had already gone too far.

And as they broke away, Gilbert grinned, almost delirious. The Austrian’s face was flushed red, his eyes wide, he was speechless (for once) and his hands shook ever so slightly. Ha! He gotten the Priss under his thumb, he thought as he smirked. _This mattered_. Even though he would disappear, this here and now still mattered. As long as he could get the Priss to make that awesome, stupid face. It was surely a testament to his everlasting awesomeness.

He laughed at Roderich’s flushed face.

“Yeah, I’m satisfied.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I've been away for so long. I've been trying to perfect my writing and improve my style. This is my first time writing PruAus, so I apologise if they sound too OOC. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and comments and reviews are really appreciated!


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